


Coffeeshap Scraps

by secace



Series: Caffè Arturiano [13]
Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Tag As I Go, this is just smaller bits that didnt deserve their own things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/pseuds/secace
Summary: assorted deleted scenes, minifics etc from the coffeeshop au, more specific summaries in each chapter
Series: Caffè Arturiano [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017424
Comments: 16
Kudos: 19





	1. the time priamus hooked up with gerry the illegal cd dealer

**Author's Note:**

> the first one is the backstory of priamus and gerry and according to rey it is the best thing ive ever written so. theres that lol

“It’s basically a vacation,” Lucius had said. “It’s likely only a few months, over before you know it,” then, “Okay, I don’t care if you’re miserable, I’m giving you an order.” and, “get the fuck out of my office and into the hotel room or I’ll make you regret every second of delay.”

So Priamus went to the hotel room. It was 550 square feet. There was a bed; a pullout couch; a kitchenette with a minifridge, microwave, and coffeemaker; a small table; and a 25-inch screen TV. There was also a 10 square foot balcony, but they weren’t allowed to go onto it. 

They, of course, being himself and Gerry the Black Market CD Dealer. Priamus wasn’t exactly sure what Gerry the Black Market CD Dealer had done or seen or had possession of, but Lucius wanted him to be breathing and/or not arrested, and probably someone else disagreed.

Exactly how long they would be there, no one could say.

Day One, they had a few awkward, stilted conversations, and Priamus tried and failed to figure out the TV. 

Day Two, a suit came and delivered a worrying amount of non-perishable food that could be prepared in a microwave or coffeemaker.

Day Three, Gerry the Black Market CD Dealer broke the coffeemaker.

Day Four, Priamus read the Gideon Bible in the bedside table cover to cover.

Day Five, Gerry the Black Market CD Dealer figured out the TV and accidentally charged 23 dollars to their room.

Day Six, Lucius called to yell at him for the 23 dollars.

Day Seven, Priamus fixed the coffeemaker.

Day Eight, Gerry the Black Market CD Dealer had a polite and boring mental breakdown and they sat on the floor talking for a while. 

Day Nine, Priamus started officially calling Gerry the Black Market CD Dealer just Gerry, and they ran out of coffee.

Day Ten, Priamus began translating the Gideon bible from English to Latin. Every time he finished a page he gave it to Gerry, who would try and fail to do origami with it.

Day Eleven, he abandoned the New Latin Priamus Bible Edition written on hotel stationery, halfway through Genesis.

Day Twelve, Gerry successfully made a paper crane and Priamus was forced to continue translating so Gerry would have more pages to fold.

Days Thirteen through Eighteen, more translating.

Day Nineteen, they finished the bible and started jettisoning the paper cranes to the balcony to make room.

Day Twenty, Lucius called to ask about the paper cranes, which had apparently been caught by a breeze and created a local stir.

Day Twenty-One, Lucius called again to discuss the paper cranes, which were apparently being considered a manifestation of the lord and a sign of the end times.

Day Twenty-Two, Priamus broke the coffee machine again trying to make ramen in it. Also, Lucius took pity on him and a delivery arrived at the hotel room door in the middle of the night containing several airport mystery novels and a bottle of Everclear.

Day Twenty-Three, Everclear.

Day Twenty-Four Priamus read all the airport books and judged them subpar. 

Days Twenty-Five through Thirty Gerry read the airport books and Priamus translated the Latin Gideon into Cantonese.

Day Thirty-One, they held a book club and wrote fix-it fic for the dreadful airport books.

Day Thirty-Two, the hotel refused to give them any more stationery. Priamus tried to pierce his own ear with a safety pin and was stopped by Gerry, who was concerned about the safety.

Day Thirty-Three Lucius called to complain about the stationary and was convinced to deliver a French to English dictionary as well as various other necessities.

Days Thirty-Three through Fifty, Priamus tried to learn French. Gerry watched Animal Planet because it was the only channel they got for free.

Day Fifty-One Priamus fixed the coffee machine. Gerry was still showing no ill effects from the confinement.

Days Fifty Two through Sixty, Priamus tried to decide if Gerry was hot or not.

Day Sixty One.

“Morning, Priamus!” Said Gerry chipperly from the kitchenette. Every morning he dutifully put water from the sink in a mug and drank it. Before they ran out of coffee it had been coffee, and before the coffee machine broke it was hot water. Gerry thought it was important to keep up a routine.

“Good morning, Gerry,” Priamus muttered from the couch. He sat up and studied the man. He looked like he had been manifested from a summoning circle of stock photos and dentist’s billboards, except that to ascribe a magical origin invested him with too interesting a backstory. He looked like he had wandered out of a magazine advertisement for practical khakis at a reasonable price.

But Gerry was sort of handsome in a boring way, Priamus thought. Or maybe after sixty-one days anyone looked sort of handsome.

“It’s a nice morning. I assume. Anyway, I don’t hear rain,” Gerry announced cheerily. They weren’t allowed to open any blinds, so it was hard to tell.

“Hm,” Priamus agreed, still deep in thought. 

“Did you know that you shouldn’t kill moles if you catch them in your lawn?” Gerry took a sip of his “coffee.”

Priamus looked out over the endless purgatory of a hotel room he was trapped in. “Thanks, Gerry, that’s a good tip.”

“Big plans for today?”

From anyone else Priamus would have thought it was sarcasm. But this was Gerry. 

“Well, the hotel still won’t give us more stationary and I hate French. So do you want to maybe--”

“Oh! You know what--” Gerry stopped, abashedly. “I'm sorry for interrupting, please continue.”

Priamus sat back. “No, no, you continue.”

“Transformers 8 comes out today, so we get Transformers 7 for free today only. We should watch it.” Gerry was looking enormously pleased with this development. Priamus shrugged and moved over to make room on the couch.

“Sure. Do we have any cereal left?”

“Uh...” Gerry scanned the kitchenette. “No.”

“Great.”

They put on the movie.

“Wait,” said Priamus, a few minutes in. “If this is about robots why is King Arthur in it?”

“It’s a flashback,” Gerry explained. “Hey, do you want to have sex?”

For a second, he was so surprised he failed to respond. This was the most interesting thing Gerry had ever done. “Fuck, yeah, sure,” said Priamus, surprised.

It was fine. It was completely believable sex. It killed some time, but was not engaging enough that when it was over, Priamus wasn’t at least somewhat cognizant of the plot points that had transpired in the movie during the duration. And yes, despite several hints, Gerry had not turned the movie off. The robots appeared to be fighting over a staff. It was all very odd.

At some point, the phone had rung. 

Now they moved apart, sort of awkwardly, and the phone rang again. This time Priamus picked up.

“What the fuck did you possibly have to do in that hotel room that was more vital the answering the fucking phone which only I, Lucius, would call?” Lucius demanded.

“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter.” To his confusion, Lucius sounded almost sheepish. “I actually forgot you were here, the situation was resolved a week ago. There’s a guy coming over now, he’s in the lobby, and he’ll be up in a minute. Report in tomorrow. I have another assignment for you.” Then Lucius hung up.

Priamus considered the current state of them. “Oh, shit.”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the conversation between gawain and cerise that was cut from An Excellent Judge of Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did a fade to black on the phone convo between gawain and cerise in that fic and by popular (like 2 peoples) demand i wrote it here lol

Cerise expected him to hang up. He didn't. “Thank you. Now my list of shit to deal with this week has gone from everything to everything except WGS notes.” 

There was a pause. Then, as if sensing the unasked- and unpaid for- question, he continued. “Family shit, I have to fly to Italy, it's going to be a whole fucking mess. You know how it goes.”

“Family shit,” she agreed. Between her asshole brother and her useless father, she did, in fact, know how it went.

“You would know. Your brother is Malegaunt, right?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, wondering how he knew that.

“My condolences.”

“Least I don’t have five.”

“Oh, they’re alright,” he said, the dismissive wave of a hand audible in his tone, “sure their sole goals in life are to create problems I have to solve, but they’re basically the reason I exist, so, mixed bag.”

There was a pause.

“Unexpected?”

“I expect nothing from you.”

“Oh?” Gawain said, sounding almost disappointed. “Have I ceased to amuse? The puzzle grew too easy?”

Cerise looked down at her desk with a frown, “you are currently just slightly more interesting than my physics problems.”

“Oh, good. Astrophysics major, Queer Studies minor, right?”

She had given up on wondering why he knew things at this point, and merely confirmed.

“That’s really impressive.” He seemed, to her surprise, genuinely impressed. She found herself talking about her classes and explaining concepts he couldn’t possibly care about or understand to an audience which was shockingly attentive. She was explaining the lifespans of Red Dwarf stars before she even knew what she was doing.

“Aw, god, I'm ranting,” she realized suddenly.

“It’s cool, it was interesting. I'm amazed by people who can do math, I failed my calc class the first time.

“Wow.”

“Hey,” Gawain said, jokingly offended “I didn’t get any formal math education between 5th and 9th grade, it’s not my fault.”

“Why not?”

“I ran away from this fancy boarding school in Rome and- this is gonna sound fake, God- I sort of lived in the archives of the Vatican for a while. So I know Latin and Greek but not fractions.”

Cerise blinked, “holy shit. So you actually know The Pope and tried to blow up Saint Peters basilica?”

“Kind of,” he said defensively, “It wasn’t the basilica, it was a boat in the harbour and no one was on it. And I didn’t blow it up, I burned it. With greek fire.”

“... are you saying you know how to make greek fire?”

“Oh fuck,” Gawain said suddenly, “Its three am. I'll let you go. It was nice talking to you, Cerise.”

  
  



	3. Square Up, Thot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the offscreen "fight" between gawain and priamus back in chapter 2 of lionheart coffee co, now onscreen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> priamus........ that is all

_ What were they even fighting about?  _ Kay would later demand, pulling him aside. And Agravaine would not have an answer. He was just standing in a parking lot idly watching Mordred play phone games and suddenly Gawain was saying,  _ hey mob guy, do you want to fight? _ In a tone of voice more appropriate for an invitation to stroll in the garden, than one to engage in fisticuffs in the parking lot behind one’s place of employment. 

But Priamus must have been in favour of the idea because before any of the three spectators could stop them- not that they would- an actual real fistfight had broken out behind Lionheart Coffee Co. 

Mordred looked up, decided Candy Crush was more interesting and returned to his phone. Gaheris was cheering Gawain on, being as always the staunchest supporter of his brother’s worst ideas. Agravaine was trying to be cool and not freak out, which largely involved standing completely still and multiplying random large numbers in his head, and, when that failed, returning to his elaborate fantasy scenario wherein he was one of those fancy Catholic relics that sat around in old churches, not having siblings or demands upon him of any type.

All things considered, it seemed to be a surprisingly close match, seeing as Priamus was a hired gun and Gawain was a college student and part-time maker of bad coffee. But Gawain was a man of many surprising talents, most of them some form of unsavoury and all inscrutable.

“Oh, God,” Agravaine said aloud, a new and horrible development breaking through the haze. 

“Stab him!” Gaheris encouraged. Mordred was holding his phone, and Agravaine leaned over slightly to see that he was filming.

Priamus had managed to get Gawain at a disadvantage, and Gawain, always a fan of escalation, had naturally drawn a knife. Priamus’ knife, actually.

“Clever fingers,” he said in explanation between quickly drawn breaths. If Gawain had weaknesses, one of them was a predilection for gloating.

“Do it for the vine!” Mordred said.

“You didn’t have two knives? I guess just happy to- oh!”

“Vine’s dead, dumbass,” Gaheris frowned, in a sudden grim mood as Priamus took advantage of this gloating to land a solid hit.

Mordred stuck his tongue out, “Do it for the TikTok.”

Gawain was cut off by his own irritation as Priamus broke the hold, responding in time to stop the knife from changing hands but not to reclaim it. Abandoning anything resembling technique, Gawain used the split second of victorious distraction to tackle Priamus to the ground, and the resulting scuffle finished with himself on top, hands pinning his opponent’s wrists next to his head, one bent knee between his legs.

“Happy with yourself?” Priamus asked, his face redder, perhaps, than could be explained by simple exertion, a fact which could hardly escape the notice of its cause. The aforementioned guilty party grinned, a feral thing, the effect of which he also noted, and let up, as if unconsciously. 

Falling for this deliberate opening, Priamus bolted up, freeing his right wrist, realizing his error too late as Gawain hooked his leg and grabbed his shoulder, twisting them both so their positions were reversed. Priamus blinked, staring down at Gawain, who merely smiled pleasantly.

“Why..?” had he given up his position of victory, deliberately, for this one? 

“Perhaps,” Gawain began, every syllable slow and deliberate in a way Priamus would later reflect should be illegal, “perhaps I prefer you on top.”

Giving Priamus just enough time to ponder those words, swallow hard, and quickly rethink some things, Gawain glanced down, the other following his eyes to the second knife, though he could feel the sharp metal point against his side without needing to look. 

“Unlike you, I know how to keep hold of my possessions,” Gawain said, smug. Then he gave a long look to Priamus, who was not currently in possession of anything, but most especially not of the mental faculties to do fuck all except look back and try not to breathe too heavily. 

Holding eye contact deliberately, Gawain flicked his wrist and sent the knife skittering off over the asphalt. Distantly, as if from over a radio, Priamus heard muffled swearing from that direction, as if it had narrowly missed an unintended target.

“Fighting is dull. Do you agree?”

He agreed. He very much agreed.

“Then do something else,” Gawain suggested meaningfully. He obliged.

“Oh my God,” Agravaine said again. Gaheris looked disappointed. Mordred was still filming and was too delighted at his sudden power to be more than just slightly disgusted.

All things Priamus was utterly unaware of, engrossed in the fact that Gawain was kissing him, hands running down his sides, inciting a shiver as they settled at his waist, guiding them up into something closer to a sitting position, legs tangled together.

“What the hell, guys?” Gareth was at the screen door, looking despondent.

“Hey don’t look at me, I'm not the one making out with some rando,” Agravaine said, from behind his hands.

“No one would ever accuse you of that Aggs,” Gaheris quipped.

Priamus, meanwhile, was finding himself unable to even contemplate how fired he was, in the face of the overwhelming argument Gawain was presenting, which was largely nonverbal, though tongues were still involved. Several buttons had been lost off his shirt, his tie was just gone completely, and he had a brief premonitory vision of himself looking in a mirror later and being unable to distinguish bruises from fighting and from Not Fighting. 

So things were going pretty well for Priamus. He was excited to find out what the quick hands that had seen fit to disarm him earlier had planned at his belt, which they were currently occupied with undoing.

Then, abruptly, lamentably, Gawain pulled back, hands resting completely still- the bastard- on the fabric below the now unbelted belt.

“Oh,” Priamus said breathlessly, voice thick with disappointment, among other things. 

“Don’t be glum, we can pick up later.” Gawain tilted his head slightly, now dishevelled brown hair falling over one eye. “Depending.”

So, Priamus thought, the choice was to embezzle or bid Gawain goodbye. It seemed a pretty obvious one.


	4. The Orkneys See A Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seems like there are a lot of flaws in that plan. You have to commit to the lie if you wanna pull it off, you know,” Lamorak said casually, “so for complete assurance of, success and everything, you need to actually come over.”  
> “Uh,” Agravaine blinked. He heard an argument start up in the den, and footsteps in the hallway. “Okay.”

“Do you need help with math?”

“Huh? No, I’ve got all my math credits, I'm not taking it this semester. I thought you knew that, dude.”

“Well, God,” Agravaine hissed into the phone, “can you lie about it?”

“A con, huh? Well, I’ll be your co-conspirator anytime. What museum are we robbing?” Lamorak asked evenly.

“We’re not robbing a museum,” Agravaine said, trying to remember that when asking someone a favour, it is impolitic to swear at them. “I'm just trying to get out of family bonding and need an excuse.”

“Oh, well. Spending time with Gawain is a punishment worse than death, I am happy to be your rescuer, your knight in--”

“Stop.” Agravaine grimaced. “I fucking hate how you phrased that. Look, will you just agree to lie to my brothers if they ask? That’s all you have to do.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Agravaine looked nervously at the door, through which one of his brothers would surely burst at any second to drag him away to family bonding. 

Today that came in the form of going to see a four hour long NC-17 horror movie that had been banned in multiple countries for what critics called “violence and horrifying concepts so deeply, viscerally awful that everyone involved in its creation should be on some sort of watchlist.” His brothers were very excited. To be fair to them, or at least to Gawain, they had  _ asked  _ if he was alright with it, but in a moment of bull-headed pride, he had insisted that it was fine. 

Now there was no way to back out gracefully, nor was there any way Agravaine could possibly go through with it if past experience was an indicator. When he was fourteen, Gaheris had dragged him to a midnight showing of _ Texas Chainsaw Massacre  _ and he had cried so hard he was sick in the parking lot. Seven years later he wasn’t feeling especially braver.

“Seems like there are a lot of flaws in that plan. You have to commit to the lie if you wanna pull it off, you know,” Lamorak said casually, “so for complete assurance of, success and everything, you need to actually come over.”

“Uh,” Agravaine blinked. He heard an argument start up in the den, and footsteps in the hallway. “Okay.” 

He was just going to sit around in the university library listlessly checking his phone and pretending to study, so this was hardly a burden. And Lamorak had a really nice apartment with fancy appliances, which swayed his decision more than it perhaps should have.

“Do you think you could get your fridge to run Doom?” Agravaine asked, thinking aloud.

“Does that mean you’ll come over? If so, then yes, definitely.”

Agravaine found himself agreeing to be over in half an hour, just as the door, predictably, slammed open. He was so tired of not having a lock.

“Where are you gonna be in half an hour?” Gawain demanded, more curious than actually mad.

“I have to tutor someone in math. I can’t go to the movie.”

Gawain smirked. “Oh, don’t be coy, Aggs. And remember to be safe.”

“I hate you.”

“Enjoy yourselves!” He said, and slammed the door closed.

Agravaine hung up, unwilling to know what Lamorak thought of that exchange. Packing up notes as if he was actually going to study, he left the apartment before even his brothers did, to forestall an interrogation. Gawain was too excited by the prospect of movie snacks-- he honestly considered theatres nothing more than a place to sit in the dark and eat candy for 2 hours at a time-- that he allowed this to pass without comment, and egress was achieved.

Roughly half an hour later, he was let into Lamorak’s apartment and abandoned his bag at the door just in time for The Cat to let out a howl and charge.

The Cat was named Llama, why wasn’t clear. The Cat was merely referred to as “asshole bastard” or, in fearful tones, The Cat. The Cat hated every single human being on the planet, as well as most other animals, houseplants and objects.

Except, bafflingly, Agravaine. Whether she recognized some sort of kindred soul or merely had odd and extremely exclusive taste was a mystery that would never be unravelled. 

“Uh. Hello cat,” he said to the fluffy white menace currently purring at his feet and looking up at him adoringly.

“Traitor. Asshole. Hey, Agravaine.” Lamorak said. “How are your shitty brothers?”

“Largely unchanged. Yours?”

“Still bastards, except Tor, ironically.” Lamorak stepped away and gestured vaguely kitchenwards, “Were you serious about doing mad science on my fridge? Because--”

“I'm not watching Twilight backwards. Once was enough,” Agravaine insisted, guessing the direction of the conversation and heading it off at the pass.

“It’s such an intriguing concept, though,” Lamorak said, nevertheless heading toward the kitchen with purpose.

“I regret telling you about it.” Agravaine followed him to the kitchen, which was even larger and fancier than he had remembered.

“It is the only cool idea Gawain has ever had. You want something to drink?”

“It was Mordred’s idea,” Agravaine felt momentary panic over the second question. Did he mean alcohol? Was he lame if he said no? “Uh. no?”

“Mordred’s the one who’s cool right?”

“Comparatively.” He frowned. “Yes.” 

Lamorak opened the fridge. “Good to have one of those.” He frowned. “Good thing you didn’t want a drink, I only have Capri Suns stolen from my nephew’s birthday party.”

“Oh,” said Agravaine, feeling slightly foolish. “Why?”

“That’s what Aglovale gets for trying to make me babysit, he gets his juice stolen.” Lamorak closed the door and leaned back against the counter. “I mean, Morien’s a cute kid but I have like, stuff to do.”

Agravaine scoffed. “Oh yeah. Your really important work, like the society for stem bros and standing around while Play Not does things. And getting your fridge to run Doom.”

“Hey,” Lamorak pointed at him, “this is, like super important. I'm saving my friend from a horrible fate.”

“Acquaintance,” Agravaine mumbled.

“What?”

“Nevermind. So, the fridge,” he redirected guiltily. 

The set to work on the fridge, and found it disappointingly easy. It had a web browser, for some ungodly reason, so some fiddling with an emulator and one Bluetooth keyboard later, success was achieved. The much harder problem was, it turned out, un-achieving success. 

“Uh,” said Agravaine apologetically, “I think your fridge is just stuck like this now. Sorry.”

Lamorak just shrugged. “Whatever, I didn’t buy the thing, dude. You can hit it with a tire iron if you want.”

“Kind of cliche,” Agravaine noted, and didn’t explain. “Anything else in your kitchen with an internet connection?” 

Lamorak didn’t say anything.

Agravaine rolled his eyes. “Anything in your kitchen  _ without _ an internet connection?”

Three ports later, they had broken every appliance that could be broken, and retired to the living room, sitting about a foot apart on the couch.

“We are not watching backwards Twilight,” Agravaine said firmly.

“This is like the uh-- the Garden of Eden, you presented me with this great temptation and then banned it. Not cool bro.”

If he cared about biblical allusions, Agravaine would have asked if this made him God or the serpent. But he didn’t. “Where’s the remote?”

“It uses voice commands.” 

Agravaine stood up. “I'm going to steal the keyboard from your fridge and use it for this, I refuse. I'm drawing a line.”

Lamorak watched in amusement as he connected the keyboard, and with more amusement when, immediately upon sitting back down, The Cat reappeared to sprawl itself over Agravaine’s lap, forcing him to relinquish the keyboard for lack of access. 

“Do not suggest what you are about to suggest.”

One finger of the monkey's paw curled.

“Not a word.” Lamorak promised.

“I'm here so I  _ don’t  _ have to watch some dumb fucking horror movie,” Agravaine admitted, working very hard not to acknowledge anything else being said.

“Yeah, but we’d have more fun!”

“Shut up,” Agravaine said tightly, his rare decent mood evaporating in the heat of how stupid he felt. “Get a new joke.”

“Huh?” Lamorak was realizing with sudden panic that serious things coached in plausible deniability might actually be taken seriously. He followed this with something that, from the understanding he had of the objection, was the correct response. But it was such which from the opposing perspective of which he was unaware, was very much the incorrect response. “I was just kidding.”

“Whatever, I don’t fucking care, I'm so fucking sick of all the shitty jokes,” and he was, he was  _ so _ sick of feeling like sport, “and how if-- if I don’t laugh along I’m the asshole, I’m a prig, I-- It’s not fucking funny when you’re the punchline!” He was aware that he didn’t make much sense, and that he was overreacting. Awareness often means shockingly little. Agravaine froze, some unconscious misguided hope that maybe if he stayed perfectly still sound waves would stop travelling through the air.

“Uh.”

That seemed about the appropriate reply. Against all odds and private hopes, Lamorak tried again. “I’m sorry, I really wasn't making fun of you. I mean, I'm never making fun of you, seriously.”

“Whatever, fuck you.”

“No, seriously.”

“ _ Whatever! _ ”

“Seriously!”

“I don’t believe you,” said Agravaine, who wasn’t really sure what they were talking about anymore, and for whom, besides, self righteous anger had given way to mortification.

“Well, there's nothing I can do about that,” Lamorak said, and frowned.

“Mmr,” said The Cat sadly.

“Uh, sorry,” Agravaine said, to The Cat. Lamorak said the same, to Agravaine, but neither knew the directions of these statements. There was a long, awkward silence. Lamorak stared at the black TV screen like it was showing the most interesting program ever broadcast. Agravaine put all mental efforts to petting The Cat, who chirped happily.

“There's a great Crimean war documentary,” Agravaine noted in rare wry self-effacement. “That's a joke. It's so long and boring.”

“Uh, fun fact, I don’t know what the Crimean War is. I have no idea-- I don’t even know where Crimea is.” 

“It's really brave of you to admit that. We can watch fucking backwards Twilight, if you really want to.” This was a very generous concession, but they couldn’t just keep sitting there. He would die.

Lamorak shrugged. “Nah, I wasn’t serious, mostly. All our jokes are falling flat tonight.”

Still focused on the original problem, Agravaine considered the black screen. “We should randomize it. Let God decide. Or probability, or whatever.”

“God is probability,” Lamorak pronounced.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, probably. What were you thinking?”

Agravaine pulled out his phone. “Wikipedia has a list article on all films. We assign them numbers, let's say chronologically, and have a program randomly pick one from the set. Then we have to watch it, no matter what it is.”

“Dangerous.” Noticing a hole in the plan, he asked, “What if it isn’t online? We roll again?”

“Sure.”

This was set to be a prodigious task, till they noticed a sub article towards the bottom entitled “list of pirate films by year” which was immediately judged a better category. 

The generator landed them on a silent film adaptation of  _ Treasure Island _ , which was boring for the first two minutes until they decided to block off the part of the screen with captions and improvise the dialogue themselves. A good time was had by all, except Robert Louis Stevenson, original author of the novel _ Treasure Island _ , who would have been appalled at the direction they took the plot.

The film, like all things, came to an end. Agravaine remembered the existence of his brothers with fond distaste, and knew if he got home after they did, they’d find some way to be wretched about it.

“I should get going. It’s been at least as long as a tutoring session,” Agravaine said, preemptively made guilty by The Cat’s happy chirp. 

“Oh, yeah, okay.” For a moment, he seemed about to say something more. He did not, at that point in time.

After a reluctant pause, Agravaine tried to gently shoo The Cat away, to no avail. He didn't have the heart on more forceful relocation, and was beginning to resign himself to dying on that couch.

“I'll move her, she already doesn’t like me,” Lamorak offered, and without waiting for response, leaned over him and scooped up the cat, depositing her on the floor as she hissed at him. For a worrying second, their faces were, incidentally, close, and hands were-- it was ridiculous to think about that way, of course, Agravaine knew. He was so stupid about these things. Drunk Gaheris had made some points.

“Well. I’m going to leave,” he repeated weakly. A beat passed before he recalled the actions that entailed, and stood up. Lamorak walked him to the door, where he collected his bag.

Lamorak opened the front door, “Thanks for coming over it was-- sort of fun. You’re a cool guy.”

“Uh. Thanks. Yeah.” He flushed involuntarily. “Bye, cat.”

The door closed. “Merow,” The Cat said piteously. 

They stared at the closed door for a moment. “Yeah. I agree.”

* * *

Agravaine made it home mere moments before his brothers, having just enough time to throw down his back by the entrance and shut the door to his room behind him before it was reopened by his eldest brother.

“Hiya, Aggs. Damn. You actually did math.” 

“You sound disappointed.”

Gawain released the door, which swung gently into the room, and leaned in the doorway. “I mean, I was ready to be happy for you. Is that weird? It is, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Agravaine confirmed. “How was the movie?”

Gawain laughed. “Oh, it was awful. We were idiots playing chicken to see who would ask to leave first. We called it about sixty minutes in and snuck into the cinema classics showing of this black and white  _ Treasure Island _ adaptation. It was boring, but no one was crying and I could eat popcorn in peace. All in all, a grand venture.”

“Huh,” Agravaine said slowly. “Weird.”

“Right, well,” Gawain straightened, “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Are you fucking dying or something? Are you hiding a terminal illness?” Agravaine asked, concerned at this statement.

“Hey! I can say nice things!” He said defensively. “I saw a man eat his own fingers right off his hand tonight. Maybe I’m in a weird mood. Whatever. Have a  _ bad  _ night then. Jerk.”

“Okay. Love you too, you fucking asshole.”

“Loser!”

“Whore!”

“Goodnight,” Gawain said, grinning. He closed the door.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually counted every movie ever made about pirates and randomly generated a number . i dont know why. the thrill, i suppose.


	5. Clowns At The Zoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, our Agent called,” Dinadan announced, hoping this would command the full attention of the room. It didn’t. “Says that--”  
> “We should go to the zoo,” Isolde interrupted, looking up from her phone, where she was undercover on Twitter as Isoldestan69, sewing seeds of discontent for dark and mysterious purposes, or boredom.  
> “Oh, fuck yeah,” Tristan agreed, from next to Isolde on the couch.

“So, our Agent called,” Dinadan announced, hoping this would command the full attention of the room. It didn’t. “Says that--”

“We should go to the zoo,” Isolde interrupted, looking up from her phone, where she was undercover on Twitter as Isoldestan69, sewing seeds of discontent for dark and mysterious purposes, or boredom.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Tristan agreed, from next to Isolde on the couch. He was currently cutting a large hole in the front of a sweater, and with this statement tried to place the scissors behind his ear like a pencil. Being larger and less regularly shaped than a pencil, they slipped immediately and plummeted point first to impale his open palm. The other two pretended not to notice his new stigmata. 

“Guys. We have a schedule.”

“Didy,” Isolde said plainly, making eye contact.

“Zozie.” He said back, equally stony.

“Come on, Didy,” Tristan joined in, which wasn’t fair at all.

“Zozie. Trix.” Dinadan didn’t surrender easily.

“Didy. Didy.”

“Zozie! Trix!”

“Didy! Didy! Didy!”

“We should get Dippin Dots,” Isolde said, ignoring the posted map Dinadan was trying to read.

Tristan grabbed Dinadans arm and dragged him away from the map, and the group set off in a random direction. “We should get a pet. I vote monkey.”

“Scorpions.” 

“Clown,” said Dinadan.

Tristan considered this. “I don’t think that would be a good pet. Get your head in the game, Didy.”

“Maybe like a sexy clown?” Isolde suggested, then immediately grimaced. “No, nope.”

“I mean there is a literal clown,” Dinadan said with increased urgency, and pointed.

“Oh, holy shit.”

“Let’s throw rocks at him.”

“Let’s go a different direction,” Dinadan suggested, his turn now to grab the other’s arms and lead them off, toward what turned out to be the lion exhibit. 

“Oh, god, hi Isolde,” The zookeeper greeted them, nervous after last time. His name was Owain, and he was Gawain's cousin, but Dinadan tried not to hold it against him. 

“Hey, it's the beast tamer!” She called, waving her arms. 

“Hi Owen,” said Tristan. He gracefully let this pass. Owain was used to this from just about everyone.

“Owain, tell me something,” Dinadan said, leaning casually against the thick glass, “How hungry are the lions today?”

“Uh--”

“Like, if say,” Dinadan continued, “a Cornish musician was pushed in,”

“Didy, no!” Tristan protested, trying to affect a pathetic expression.

“Owain, if you fed my boyfriend to a lion, I'd write a song about it,” Isolde commented, though whether this was meant to indict or encourage, her tone gave no indication. 

“Oh, you work here, you'd know, why the  _ fuck _ is there a clown?” Dinadan asked suddenly, dropping the murder plot.

“What?”

Before Owain could provide more details, they were interrupted by a fresh arrival on the scene. 

“Tristan,” Palamedes said stiffly, frozen a few yards away, where he had noticed them. “And-- Isolde.”

“I'm here too,” Dinadan said lightly. He was sort of fond of Palamedes after an awkward conversation a year ago. It had involved the Whirl-A-Wish Coin Vortex Funnel Spiral Wishing Well™ next to the flamingo exhibit, and some tears.

“Oh, hey Dinadan,” Palamedes said politely. “How are you?”

“Good, you?”

“Oh, uh,” he shifted awkwardly, “I was going to fight Tristan.”

Dinadan wished him luck.

“Why are we fighting Tristan?” asked Tristan, who didn’t really care, per se, but wanted to be involved in the conversation.

Isolde shrugged coyly. “Because he thinks it’ll impress me.”

“He only thinks that because you told him that it would, verbatim,” Owain pointed out, scanning the area for impressionable children this might affect, seeing none, he settled back to watch.

“That was only the first time. I know how to accept rejection, I'm totally over Isolde,” Palamedes said, with a tone like maybe he wasn’t totally over anything, but was trying to be mature. Or at least as mature as a man could be when challenging a world-renowned folk-rockstar to a fistfight at his place of employment. “This is purely an affair on honour.”

“Whose?” Dinadan wondered aloud, to no answer.

“Oh hell yeah, fight! Fight! Fight!” Isolde cheered. “I’ll kiss the winner.”

“Please stop encouraging them,” Dinadan would have said, if he wasn’t about at his limit for the day. Instead, he took out his phone and started recording.

“You guys are worse than my cousins,” Owain said, which was, to Dinadan, rather cutting. But, seeing as it was a cloudy Tuesday morning, they were basically the only ones there, so Owain didn’t try and stop them.

“Okay, so, what are the rules?” Tristan asked, warming to this development. “Do we get weapons, like a net and stuff, gladiator style? Is this a hair match? Should we take off our clothes?”

Palamedes blinked. “No? No to all of those things. We just… hit each other.”

“Oh,” Tristan sounded disappointed. “Okay, fine. Boo.” 

Then, without any warning, Tristan threw a punch with surprising competence. 

“Oh, shit,” Owain said mildly as matters kicked off. 

Dinadan began a running play by play for the benefit of the other two audience members. Isolde was pretending to be a cheerleader who switched sides every ten seconds. Owain was pretending not to be there.

“And he goes in for-- oh! That’s gotta hurt, look at that folks a real solid hit, can Tristan bring it back around and-- no!” 

Isolde cheered. “Go, Palamedes!”

“And now Palamedes on the left going in with a punch, pressing the advantage and-- ah, fumble in the endzone, Kernow back in the game, a solid hit!”

“Go, Tristan!”

“About a minute in, its still anyone’s game,” Dinadan announced, enjoying this maybe more than he should have been. “And down they go on the pavement that’s gonna leave abrasions, impressive gambit from Tristan, but will it pay off? No! His opponent has more than one brain cell and sees right through it!”

“Go, Palamedes!”

“Tristan tried to play him like the harp but he’s the one who got played, a lesson in hubris for us all,” Owain added solemnly, attempts at impartial maturity overweighed by the good pun he had thought of.

“It may be too soon to tell but this commentator is ready to call it for Palamedes,” Dinadan noted with a smirk

“Woo! Hell yeah, violence!” Isolde waved her purse like a pom-pom.

“I surrender,” Tristan said from the ground. “Wanna like, make out about it?”

“Oh God folks,” Dinadan said, disappointed, “there’s been a new development.”

This, apparently, wad the line for Owain. “Hey! Dont make out in front of my enclosure! Go grope by the giraffes!”

“We should kiss to make them jealous,” Isolde suggested. Owain disappeared around the corner for a moment and returned with a bucket.

“Final warning!” He said. When this wasn’t acknowledged, he unceremoniously dumped out the water on Tristan and Palamedes, affecting the desired halt.

“Can you just follow me around and do that all the time?” Dinadan asked admiringly. “I’ll pay you.”

“I can’t tell if I won or not,” Palamedes said thoughtfully. He politely rejected his prize, and Isolde offered Dippin Dots instead, which was bemusedly accepted.

“Let’s all go,” Tristan offered, having lived down the ignominy of defeat very quickly.

“Only if Owain doesn’t invite his cousin,” Dinadan insisted.

“Why would I invite Gawain?” Owain said, surreptitiously putting away his phone. 

They got Dippin Dots. Whatever duties Owain and Palamedes had to attend to, they weren’t going to be done. 

“You’re like, really strong. I didn’t realize part of the job was carrying the giraffes,” Said Tristan, who wasn’t joking.

“Haha,” Palamedes said, stabbing his eldrich desert abomination with a plastic spoon. 

“Hey,” Dinadan broached, remembering the question from earlier, “What’s with the clown, guys? Shouldn’t it be, ya know, behind bars, in a recreation of its natural environment in which it can thrive?”

“What?” Said Palamedes

“That’s what Owain said!”

“Seriously,” Palamedes placed the paper cup down on the picnic table. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this a joke?”

Owain shrugged. World Famous Folk- Rock Band Play Not looked at each other, confused and unnerved. 

“Clown,” said Dinadan.

“Yeah Didy,” Isolde said in teasing over-enunciation, “That’s what we’re talking about. Good job keeping up, bud.”

“Proud of you,” Tristan added.

Dinadan waved his hand, staring over Tristan’s head. “No, I mean. Over there, it’s back. Don’t look.” 

They all immediately twisted in their seats to look. The clown was loitering across the courtyard full of tables, making a shitty balloon dog. 

“I'm going to go ask him what he’s doing,” Palamedes said, to an immediate chorus of dismay.

“You’ll die. You will seriously die, probably,” Tristan said. The other three nodded, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, your right. The clown might be better at fighting than you are.” Palamedes stood. Before he could do more than that, the target bolted off towards the gazelles.

“Oh fuck!”

“Chase it!” Encouraged Isolde. “Wait! Don’t!” 

“Does this fall under my purview?” Owain wondered aloud. “Should we call… security?”

Palamedes shrugged. “You can. I have matters to get back to, though, so it’s up to you.”

“You do!” Tristan said enthusiastically.

“Yeah, feeding the giraffes. Buzz off. It's been--well, a mixed bag. Good luck with the clown.”

“Bye, Palamedes,” Dinadan said to his retreating back. 

“I'm going to hunt the clown,” Owain announced with determination. “I think the clown is following you, so I’ll have to stay with you all.”

“Don't the lions need food, too?” Dinadan asked curiously.

“They can eat the clown once I catch it.”

“Oh, damn. Lion boy taking out his claws,” Isolde smirked.

Tristan finished the dippin dots and threw the cup vaguely behind him. Incredibly, it bounced off a cardboard cut out of a lemur and landed in the trash can. “Great. Let’s go look at the fucking horses or whatever then.”

Owain took them to see the zebras, assuming this to be what Tristan wanted. Soon, as predicted, the clown reappeared. 

“The clown reappeared,” Dinadan observed.

“Oh, fuck,” Isolde added helpfully. “Are you gonna fight it?”

“Uh,” Owain hesitated.

“We should call Gawain, I bet he’d love to hurt a clown,” said Dinadan, who wanted to see Owain fight a clown and knew what had to be said to make that happen.

“No, I’ll do it!”

Isolde dug around in her purse. “Wait, take these.”

Owain accepted the items without looking, saw, and almost dropped them. “Oh my god, these are brass knuckles, Isolde.”

“Hell yeah,” said Tristan.

“The clown is approaching,” Dinadan said with alarm, feeling it was possible the situation had gotten out of hand and regretting his involvement in it. 

Desperate to prove himself, Owain whirled to face the challenger, not taking the offer of escalation. The clown stopped a bit off, realizing it had been spotted. They stood staring at each other like rival cowboys, both of whom the town is not big enough for. 

“Wait I recognize that guy,” Tristan said. Then, “Owain, kill this clown.” 

Several things happened very quickly, and with far less movielike drama than they should have. The clown attacked Tristan. The rest attacked the clown. They were all sprayed with the incredibly high water capacity hoze meant for cleaning enclosures, and broke apart, the clown prone on the ground, the rest standing about.

“So I guess you decided not to contact security, that’s fine,” Palamedes said, turning off the hose.

“Thank you Palamedes,” Dinadan said politely.

Tristan kicked the clown. “I definitely recognize this guy. Now that the paint is coming off.”

Palamedes looked at him. “Yeah, fuck, that’s Bleoberis. You beat him up for catcalling my brother's girlfriend.”

“Fuck you,” said Bleoberis.

“Fuck  _ you!”  _ said Palamedes.

“This kind of thing always happens when we go to the zoo.” Dinadan was staring thoughtfully at the zebras.

Tristan pat his shoulder, slightly too hard. “Yeah, Didy, that’s why we go.”

  
  



End file.
